


His Last Notes

by Backbiter222



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Bathtub, Beating, Blood, Bloody, Cutting, Death, Dreams, Drugs, Gen, His last notes, Kinda Messed Up But Worth a Read, Murder, Nightmares, Notes, Sad, School, Suicide, Whipping, blind, brother, car crash, gun - Freeform, knife, like really sad, läst, screams, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 08:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15263736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backbiter222/pseuds/Backbiter222
Summary: Boy, or Carter. He had his life, but not for long. After the Accident, it all started to spiral out of control. So far that this was the only answer he could see. This final note. And the knife.





	His Last Notes

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my attempt at a new short story. I think it can be considered angst and sad, possibly horror, but I'm not sure. It's a little on the mature side because suicide but I liked it. Here you go.

         Once upon a time, there was a boy.

 

         Now there isn’t.

 

         This boy used to have a name. He used to be known as Carter. But he no longer needs a name. He doesn’t deserve one.

 

         This boy, this Carter, had so much, but he didn’t want what he had. What he had were drugs wrapped up in a pile of skin that called itself his mother. He had a stepfather who lived by his beer and his belt. He had a brother who couldn’t think or see. He had bullies that chased him every day. He had a teacher that made fun of him, a sister that was dead. He had a father in a box buried six feet under. He had welt and scars from his stepfather and cuts from himself. He had his mother’s pills and the screams of his brother in his ears.

 

         Soon he didn’t even have a brother.

 

         Soon he wouldn’t have to worry about the bullies.

 

         Soon he wouldn’t have to worry about his teacher.

 

         Soon he wouldn’t have to worry about his stepfather.

 

         Soon he wouldn’t have his life.

 

         He used to have a father. He used to have a mother. He used to have a friend and a home and happiness. He used to have a sister, he used to have meaning, he used to have his life.

 

         A car crash can take so much from you.

 

         When his father died his mom found the pills. And his stepfather. And started to blame him. His and his useless brother.

 

         So his stepfather found a belt and some beer.

 

         And the belt found his back. And his brother’s too. And his sister’s.

 

         She lasted barely a week with that monster in the house before she took her life.

 

         She took her life by running into the road with a shotgun and blowing her head clean off.

 

         And her brothers had to clean up the mess.

 

         Clean it up before anyone else could see.

 

         His stepfather killed the boy’s brother one winter night. He killed his brother about three days before the boy would kill himself.

 

         His brother, the morticians say once they finally found the body, died from shock, from pain, from blood loss. I guess seventy-three lashes with a metal studded belt will do that to you.

 

         But before his brother died, before his mom found his stepfather, before she found the pills, before his father died, the boy had a friend. She was his friend when no one else would be. She stayed his friend until his father died and his other found the pills. Then she became one of the bullies.

 

         The bullies that chased the boy every day after school, every day whenever they had the chance.

 

         The bullies that were ignored by his teacher. The one that laughed at him and made his school life a Hell like his home.

 

         That’s when he turned to his mom’s pills.

 

         Those beautiful pills. The ones that made such amazing pictures appear. That made the stars dance and the animals talk. The ones that made a new world, a world where he could be Carter instead of boy.

 

         After he found the pills, he began to wear sweatshirts and sweatpants to hid not only the signs of his stepfather’s beating but the bruises and the scars from his Once-Friend and her cronies.

 

         And the cuts he started making.

 

         At school his life was Hell. At home, his life was worse. At night, the horrors he saw were more terrible than any of those things.

 

         He would see again the face of his sister as she grabbed the gun from the mantle and ran to the door. He would hear the screams of his mother, the yelling of his stepfather, the echoing boom of the gun, the clattering it made when it fell to the road and the wet thud and the head of his loving sister hit the ground next to it.

 

         He remembered the wet feeling of her still warm blood soaking his hands and his rag and he struggles with his blind, dumb brother to “clean up the god's forsaken mess before any of those goddamned idiot people come to watch!!!!”, as their stepfather put it.

 

         He saw the body of his brother fly into the wall with the force of his stepfather’s hit. He heard the dull thud as the belt slammed into his brother’s back again and again and again. He saw the metal studs rip and tear their way into the soft flesh of his brother’s back. He heard the screams and the cries and the sound of the beating over and over. He watched the blood fly up and splatter the walls and his only thought was, “I’ll have to clean that”.

 

         “I hope I’m not next.”

 

         He dreamed of the Accident. Of the car and the road and his father. But the thing in the car wasn’t his father. It was the rotting, broken, dead corpse he would become. The boy would scream and yell and the car would veer off the road and crash. And the corpse-father would fall onto the boy and crush him and the rotting smell of the decay began to fill his nostrils and choke him and.

 

         And lastly, he dreamed of his own beatings. Of the pain and the hurt. And the belt. And the sounds. And how he wished he could only forget.

 

         After so long of this, the boy, as you may imagine, could take no more. So he sat down at his desk and he wrote five notes.

 

         His last notes.

 

         Mom,

         I’m going to kill myself. I know you won’t care, I know you won’t notice. I know you love your drugs too much. I’ll keep this brief. You drove me to this. You and your pills and your husband and your actions. I hope you are happy. The pills I took are in my sock drawer. I don’t need them so I guess you can have them back.

 

         Stepfather,

         You beat me and you beat my brother and you beat my sister. You killed both of them. Now you killed me. You abused us all and you don’t deserve to live. But the world is not fair. The world doesn’t work like that. I want you to know that you drove to do this and that in my actions, I will finally be free. I will be free from your beatings and your rule and your hurt. This is on you but this is will free me too. And that is the one thing I know you can’t stand.

 

          Calantha Once-Friend,

         You were once my friend. You were once my love. My reason for living. But you abandoned me to the cold, cruel world. You took my feelings, my heart and broke it against the floor. I want you to know my death is on you. You and all your friends. You all chipped in to kill me. You all are accomplices of murder. I hope you are happy. I hope you are satisfied with what you have done. You took my life into your hands and instead of saving me you threw me away. The pills, the beatings, the hurt is all on you. And I want you to know that my last thought for you is not love like it used to be way back when but scorn and hate. You are ruined. You and your friends. I hope you all rot in Hell. And I’ll see you there. My Once-Friend. My Once-Love.

 

         Brother, Sister,

         I know you are dead. I know that you were killed by me. Me and our stepfather. And I want you to know that I love you both and always have. I am so sorry for you and I will see you soon. I wish we could have taken Him with us but that’s not how this works.

 

         Father,

         I don’t want to go. I want to live. I want to love. She was all I ever wanted. I loved her. But I can't stand this, Him, what she is now. But is it wrong that through all the hurt I still love her? That I still want her? I’m going to kill myself. And I am sorry that in doing so I am throwing away the most precious gift you ever gave me. I want to see you so much and hug you and have you comfort me. But in Hell that can’t happen.

 

         The boy left these notes where he knew they would be found. He burned the ones for the dead.

 

         Then he went to the kitchen. He found what he needed.

 

         He then went to the bathroom. There he drew a bath.

 

         He lay in the bath he made and took out the knife from the kitchen and began to cut. Cut and cut and cut.

 

         Cut and slice.

 

         The water turned red with his blood.

 

         And rose with his tears.

 

         Tears of love, of hate. Of pain, of loss. Of everything that is and will never be. Of life won and life lost.

 

         Once upon a time, there was a boy. All that’s left is a memory or two and a bloody bath. Maybe a name. Give it a week and that will be forgotten too.

 

         Once upon a time, there was a boy.

 

         Now there’s not.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it through this story. I have one last request for all of you. Please go check out my best friend's works. She writes great Supernatural fanfics and is a beyond fantastic writer. Her username is Random_Inked_Thoughts. Thanks.


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